


on-screen chemistry

by atavists



Series: do you lot think southgate is homophobic? [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: English, English National Team, English Premier League, Fluff, Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atavists/pseuds/atavists
Summary: Dier thinks it's because they have chemistry. Dele wants to think it's fate.





	on-screen chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago after Dele n Eric originally did the Gogglebox special. Funny because they've both been left out of the England squad x

“So where at Delboy? Your place or mine?” Eric asked, both hands on the steering wheel as he raised his eyebrows at the man sat beside him in the passenger seat. 

How Dele wished the context behind the question was of an entirely different matter.

Upon departure from training he and Eric had just been told that out of the entire England squad - out of the recognisable Harry Kane's and the charismatic Jordan Henderson's - they'd been the chosen ones to take part in a segment of Celebrity Gogglebox for Stand Up To Cancer's fundraising broadcast extravaganza at the end of the month. Other (definitely more) well-known names that were to contribute included Danny Dyer, Peter Crouch, and those two from One Direction whose careers had pretty much gone down the pan.

It seemed after their successful run at the World Cup Channel 4 had wanted to include a couple of the squad in the show, something which Dele knew would've never happened twenty years ago. A young Southgate and Gazza sat on a sofa running a commentary about TV shows? One of the lads would bore you to death and the other would swear until your ears bled. Dele was sort of unsettled by the fact that the best Channel 4 could've chosen was himself and Eric. Sure, Dele had scored in the last match of the tournament that they'd won, and actually, Eric would forever be memorable for knocking in the winning penalty against Colombia, but in Dele's mind they weren't a standout pair that the general public knew like they might've known the others.

Out of the squad Marcus and Jesse were surely better known, kids loved them because they unironically did Fortnite dances, and they surprisingly had the tendency to provide decent banter without swearing every other word. Dele thought Walks would've been a good choice for Gogglebox, even if he had Stonesy beside him, who instantly became the most boring lad you'd ever come across when placed in front of a camera. But instead the task had fallen to Dele and Eric. Dele and Eric, who people knew were close, but not the kind of pair that Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne were to thousands of people. Not a couple like Peter Crouch and Abbey Clancy. Not cult heroes like Danny Dyer and his own fucking daughter, Dani Dyer.

“Why do you think they chose us?” Dele asked, skipping around Eric's prior question. It had probably slipped his mind anyway, what with him driving them through rush-hour traffic. “Like, do you not think more people would rather watch the skipper and Hendo than us two?”

The line between Eric's brows deepened. Dele was one step away from telling him to stop doing that, that he’d need botox before he turned thirty, but he realised he actually wanted to hear an answer to one of his questions for once.

“I mean, we aren't as well-known as them two,” Eric shrugged. “But we've got a bit more chemistry, don't you think?”

Dele's eyes shot towards the road in front of them and stayed there. It was simple things like that being said that'd recently been making him second-guess everything in his existence, everything to do with the way he presented himself, but most importantly, everything to do with his relationship with Eric.

They'd only grown closer over the course of the World Cup. In that whirlwind month Dele had found Eric becoming his rock, both emotionally and physically, more so than he had ever been before. His girlfriend Ruby had arrived for the last week of the tournament, and though he'd never say he felt it wasn't worth her being there, he had an unnerving guilt whenever they were alone because all he wanted to do was be alone with Eric.

When the team had arrived home after the tournament they'd actually gone their separate ways for a while. With a few weeks off Dele had gone on holiday with Ruby while Eric had stayed with his family in Portugal. It was difficult for the first week - Dele couldn't go more than half a day without pining for a text off his teammate. Eric wasn't clingy like that, didn't need affection over the phone, but he was aware that Dele did. For some reason Eric still couldn't keep up with Dele's pointless Snapchats about the new facts he'd learned about different species of jellyfish and how dangerous they could be, and so Dele's only response was to give him the cold shoulder for the rest of their holiday time, refusing to respond unless Eric sent the first message. And when Eric did send the first message it took all of Dele's strength not to reply within ten seconds. 

The return to Spurs in August had got Dele all in his feelings, warm and fuzzy as he remembered what it was like to be excited for a new season where his team actually stood a chance to be in competition with the biggest clubs in Europe. He and Eric were stuck back together like nothing had changed, only that they were closer - they spent all day together at training and then went to one another's houses in the evenings, even staying over sometimes when neither could be bothered to drag themselves off the sofa. Ruby had been busy and so Dele had made himself busy too, only with Eric, filling his time with the man who had no one else but his dogs to attend to.

Dele was superstitious, and he was also certain that in life you had more than one soulmate, be it family, friends, or your partner. But he knew that there'd always be one person that clinched the top spot, one that did it for you no matter what point in your life you were at. He'd been thinking about it a lot recently, and he couldn't even admit to himself that it had been worrying him. Not worried because he'd never find that person, but worried because he had the inkling that he already had. 

“So, are we filming it at yours or mine?” 

“Definitely not yours,” Dele sneered. “They'll wonder why someone who's getting paid sixty grand a month lives in such a shithole.”  
  
It wasn't a shithole. Dele preferred staying at Eric's more than staying at his own house.

-

Dele glanced at Eric across the kitchen, eyes hanging low as he drummed his fingertips on the granite countertop. Eric had taken his navy shirt off, leaving him in a white t-shirt that rode up and showed a slither of his muscular stomach every time he moved his arms. Dele got to see him practically naked day in and day out at training, but there was something so much more mystical about it when it was discreet, something that was only on Dele's mind and no one else's.

Eric released a small sigh, concentrating on making his third cup of tea of the night. “Well, I’m glad that's over.”

Every bone in Dele's body screamed otherwise. “Yeah,” he agreed half-heartedly, staring off into the distance.

“You don't sound it,” Eric countered, looking up for the first time in a while.

Dele stayed put for a moment or two, eyes glazed over while disappointment rang out in his chest until he realised that Eric was staring. They shared a look - usually Dele would relish in such a moment, one where nothing other than the two of them mattered, one where they'd never be distracted from one another by anything - but this time Dele was anxious, cautiously straightening out his body so not to give Eric too much of an idea of how he was feeling.

Maybe he'd just been much too forward tonight. All the times he'd been unable to resist glancing at the man from the corner of his eye and the few times that he'd actually gone to caress the back of his neck would undoubtedly work their way onto the show. Dele's last intention was to humiliate Eric. Christ, Eric would never be humiliated by Dele's affection, but the fact that nothing had been reciprocated on Eric's behalf was the source of the embarrassment. 

Eric's broad shoulders narrowed as he somehow shrunk his figure down against the kitchen countertop in order to match Dele's stance. The pair held eye contact for a long time, neither of them frowning, but neither of them quite smiling, either.

“What's up, Del?” Eric finally asked, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?” Dele shrugged, fighting to keep the hurt out of his voice. It was something he was bad at. It was easy to tell when Dele wasn't being himself, and he hated it. “Nothing's up.”

“Nothing's up?” Eric murmured. “You go quiet sometimes, Del. It's not like you to go quiet.”

“Maybe I'm just thinking,” Dele replied, his words passing his lips a bit too soon after Eric's. “And I know it's not like me to think, but I do,” He insisted, folding his arms over his chest. Fuck. He was making a meal out of this.

Eric stared quizzically down the length of his nose. “What's wrong, Dele?” he questioned, frustration taking place of the soft, almost playful tone he had asked the same question with only a few moments before.

An ache seared through Dele's chest. He couldn't bring himself to comprehend that it was his heart, that Eric was getting so deep. That they'd been so close and yet still so far. He didn't want to lose him, and that was that. He'd rather say nothing than to lose him.

“Honestly, nothing's wrong,” Dele protested.

“Why are you being so defensive?”

“I’m not being defensive.”

“You sound like you're being quite defensive, Del.”

Dele couldn't control the flare of his nostrils, the dilation of his dark pupils. “I’m not being defensive.”

Eric held back for a moment before launching into another question that Dele couldn't quite deal with.

“Where'd my happy-go-lucky boy go?”

“Who ever said I was any kind of a boy in the first place, let alone yours?” he snapped.

Eric's expression turned to stone, his gaze faltering. “It's just a figure of speech. Do you have a problem with me, Del?”

“Will you stop asking me these fucking questions?” Dele scoffed, patience wearing thin. He didn't want to be doing this. He knew this would happen, knew he'd somehow fuck up the best thing in his life. 

Eric was pleading with him now. “Will you just tell me what's wrong?”  
  
“Will you just stop leading me on?”

“What?” Eric gawped, following up his exclamation with a sharp, nervous laugh. He soon turned deadly serious though, gripping the kitchen countertop so hard his knuckles turned white. “What do you mean, 'leading you on’?”  
  
“That... came out wrong.”

Eric sighed, eyes clenched shut. Dele had no idea what his expression meant, whether he was embarrassed on Dele's behalf, or just didn't understand. He just stood there like a statue, gormless and completely under Eric's thumb. 

“If this is about what happened in Russia, Del…”

A moment passed in which Dele thought he might explode. Heat prickled the back of his neck and he was struggling to string a sentence together, but Eric was patient with him, gazing attentively at his teammate through his eyelashes.

“What happened in Russia, Dier?” Dele eventually asked, playing the clueless card. 

“Do you understand what I meant when I said they chose us to do this because we have chemistry?”

“I thought I did, but I... well, when do I ever properly understand anything?”

Eric rolled his eyes and laughed one of his full, bright laughs that came from the pit of his stomach and was reserved only for Dele. He began shaking his head, his expression turning strangely sad. “What happened in Russia was that I should've told you how I felt when I had the chance. But your girlfriend was waiting for you in the hotel over the road and I was scared of losing you altogether, Del. Scared that you'd hate me.”

“Hate you for what, Eric?” Dele asked, his voice a whisper. “How did you feel?”

“I can't believe you think that you're the only one struggling with your emotions, Del.”

Of course Eric had seen right through Dele once again. But for Dele to hear Eric admit his feelings was like being hit by a fucking freight train, and bells were ringing in his ears now he'd tied himself to the tracks.

“Well... you're good at bottling things up.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Until it all comes crashing out now Eric, yeah!”

“Nothing's come crashing out of you, Dele.”

“I rubbed your neck about ten times tonight in front of all those fucking TV people. I swear they'd be able to tell more than you could from it even though we've been together almost every day for the past year!”

Eric put his head in his hands, elbows set against the granite of the countertop. “You're confusing me.”

“I’m confused! I don't even know what's going on here! I feel like at the root of it you're supposed to tell me that in Russia the way you felt was that you loved me and then I'm supposed to admit that that's all I've wanted to hear for so long but I can't get it through to you because I'm such a stubborn dickhead, and you're even worse.”

Dele's chest was heaving, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. It seemed Eric was going through the paces too, his light eyes all wide and watery. 

“The way I felt in Russia was that I loved you, Del.”

“That's bullshit.”

“No. You know it's not.”


End file.
